Caged Birds: The 174th Hunger Games
by Hope's Voice
Summary: [Post-Series AU] Katniss's rebellion failed, and the Capitol is as invincible as ever. It's been a century since the second Dark Days and new heroes step up; Azalea Ever, always the selfless kind girl and Chaise Hart, her polar opposite are chosen for the game that marks the hundredth year since Katniss Everdeen. Little do they know the conspiracy and danger that lies ahead.
1. Then

**~Then**

_She stood by the white framed doorway_, unsure of what to do. The sky was a ghostly shade of grey and the smell—it smelled like it was going to rain. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined water sweeping from the clouds and falling upon the green grass. She imagined the pure water being swept into the dirt and revitalizing the plants from near death.

But of course that won't happen, she thought. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of the yellow, non-salvageable patch of grass. There were no flowers and the soil itself was too ruined to even take in any nutrients.

But she had other matters to take care of. The boy in front of her was letting out soft whimpers. Whimpers she associated with near death. She stood there staring at the boy lying in the dirt without knowing what to do. Blood seeped through his dirty ragged clothing with every passing second.

She closed her eyes again and imagined what a true noble person would do in the situation. They would run and help him to the nearest healer, she thought, and what am I doing?

The boy on the ground finally saw her. He lifted his head to look at the raven-haired girl, but by the sound of his grunts it was obvious that the simple movement was an arduous task for him. He finally settled with resting his cheek against the dirt and faced the girl, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. "H-help me. P-please."

She stood there, holding her breath. He noticed me, she thought. Now I'll have to help him. I don't want to help him. I don't know how to help him. She didn't voice her thoughts. Instead, she stood and stared at him in what he interpreted as rapt fascination as he bled his life out.

But what she really saw was the film rewinding and playing all over again. She saw the shiny, sleek automobile rushing over the boy and heard the sound of his horrible screams. She saw the automobile continue on its way as if it had not hit a boy.

Without thinking any further, she rushed from the door but not in the direction towards the boy. Instead, she headed the other way—away from him. The ribbon on her white dress around her waist fell loose as she ran. The satiny ribbon fluttered towards the ground only to be picked up by a small breeze. It drifted along until it reached the ground—in the outstretched hand of the boy.

He gritted his teeth and gripped the white ribbon tightly in a sort of grudging manner. It was the last piece of the girl who could have saved him. He thought, at least if he had her ribbon, the Peacekeepers would be able to punish the girl. If they even would punish her anyways.

He was no longer trying to staunch the blood that flowed from his chest. He did not know what had hit him in the chest but he knew it was part of the automobiles' doing. He wasn't sure whether it was on purpose or not, but he couldn't help but feel very deep resentment.

Death was an easy way out of his dreary life.

And life, for him, is not about taking the easy way out.

Breathe, he told himself, breathe!

With each shuddering breath, he was growing weaker. His heart was pumping slower and his body was losing its' feelings and turning numb. But he refused to acknowledge his end. He kept fighting. And fighting. Everything was a fight—especially survival.

Even when his eyelids were forced to drop, he forced his shallow breaths in and out. It was like a mantra. He blocked out everything except for breathing. He needed to survive. He didn't even think once about giving up and letting the oblivion consume him.

He needed to survive.

He was so bent on survival that he didn't even feel the first drops of rain. He was so bent on survival that he didn't even hear the _pitter-patter_ of light footsteps on the muddy ground. He didn't notice as strong and burly arms lifted him up and carried him away.

In fact, when his green eyes opened to the breaking dawn outside, he believed that he had completely saved himself. He thought it was all his doing. That planted the seeds of solitary in his mind. He didn't need help. Not when he could save himself.

He tossed the white ribbon that was still in his clenched fist on the ground. Then he kicked dirt over it until it was completely covered and none of the white could be seen. The time of relying on others was over. It was a new start in his life and even the sky seemed brighter than usual.

Never again would he need help from anyone else. He would be deceiving. He would be secretive. He would be cunning. Trust was a silly thing that he didn't need. Especially after the girl.

And he promised himself that he would never risk his life for anyone. He would only return his debts and help if he wanted something from the other. An eye for an eye.

Meanwhile, the girl who saved him looked up at the dim grey sky. She had watched the boy kick dirt over her ribbon and she had a feeling that this marked a symbolic end to something in him. And she promised herself that she would not be selfish especially when it saved his life. She promised that she would be brave and selfless and helpful. She promised that she would never deceive anyone and be inextricable to anything that threatened to destroy her resolve. She would be honest. She would never collect debts and would always do things on her free will.

Because an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

* * *

><p><strong>Whoo! I finally got it out! Anyways, some of these lines are inspired from DIVERGENT! If you haven't read it, I suggest you check it out RIGHT NOW. You're all Hunger Games fans, right? Then you'll LOVE Divergent. Plus, the movie's going to come out at (roughly) 2015! Anyways, the main inspired lines are the ones about "Selflessness and bravery" and the "An Eye For An Eye" line is slightly inspired from my one-shot fanfic on Divergent. Anyways:<strong>

***this is a VERY symbolic paragraph. To previous readers, you may realize some old phrasing. This is an extremely symbolic line that will represent the boy tribute in the Games.**

**If you REALLY want to know what it is...well, you can message me on it and I'll tell you. Anyways, reviews are great!**

**By the way, Katniss and Peeta do play a part...a more...spiritual part in this story. :)**

**EXTRA: Since the early drafts story (posted on Quizilla) was written before the movie came out, and I'm really snotty about this detail, the entire story will be following BOOK-VERSE to what happened. To new readers of this story, if you would like to read the old (poorly written) version, just message me and I'll provide the link! EDIT: the link no longer works and I don't have the story anymore. Sorry. :(**

2015!edit: I changed stuff up. Some of the older notes no longer pertain to this story.


	2. Now

**~Now**

_Azalea can only stare blankly_ as Herne Skywick, the Capitol escort for District 12, mounts the steps up onto the temporary stage. Though Azalea's expression is blank her thoughts are spinning and spinning around with no end. She closes her eyes for a moment and imagines what the world would be like if there were no Hunger Games.

First of all, she wouldn't be standing in the crowd with all the others who are eligible for the Games. Eligible isn't really the right word for it. It is more like mandatory. She stands in line with all the other seventeen year old girls and prays that she will last two more years without her name being drawn from the glass bowl.

Second; the world would be a better place. Though she isn't sure if that is one hundred percent true, she knows that it is partially true. The Capitol won't hold its barbarous rulings and Games. They would be free. Her family would be free. She would be free.

The girl beside her gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. Their eyes meet; blue and dark eyes. They are so different in appearance that their roles should be switched. Azalea is a merchant's daughter. Yet, she has the appearance as someone from the poorer community in District 12—the Seam. Azalea's hair is a dark colour and her eyes are dark grey, the appearance of a typical Seam girl. The other girl, Daisy, has light blonde hair with blue eyes, the appearance of a typical merchant's daughter. Yet their roles are switched and Azalea is the merchant's daughter and Daisy is the girl from the Seam.

Azalea gives what she hopes is a reassuring smile to Daisy. It doesn't help that her heart is pounding quickly and she's trying to steady her quickened breathing.

"We'll be fine," Daisy says, though her quiet voice is full of fear. "Just two more times."

The problem is that District 12 is a small district with around eight thousand people in total. The risk of being chosen is much higher than if they lived in District 11 with their innumerous inhabitants. Azalea closes her eyes and hopes that none of her close family or friends will be chosen for this year's Game.

She knows that she can't stand it if her younger sister is chosen. Laurel is only fourteen this year. And she's lucky to have made it to her fourteenth birthday. Azalea knows that she's lucky too because she's seventeen. She only has to survive one more reaping after this before the Games part of her life is over. But then if she ever has children, she'll suffer every year thinking they may be reaped into the horrendous Games.

Herne sits on one of the chair and beams at them cheerily as if it is not such a horrible thing—as if he cannot hear the chagrin in the mayor's voice as he begins to read them the history of Panem and the Treaty of Treason. In a land once called North America, the Capitol rose into power. The Capitol controlled thirteen districts at the time. Then the first Dark Days came. The thirteen districts rose against the Capitol only to be suppressed again. The thirteenth district was said to be destroyed but in truth they actually signed a peace treaty with the Capitol. District 13 broke the peace treaty and rebelled after the 74th Hunger Games. Led by the legendary Katniss Everdeen, the second Dark Days came. Once again, the Capitol destroyed the opposition. The Treaty of Treason still stands—it is to remind the districts that the Dark Days are never to be repeated and the Hunger Games will remind them of that. And just to be sure and eliminate any chance of rebellion, they pulled District 13 back into the rule of the Capitol and now they must obey them too.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple: survive or be killed. In punishment for the Dark Days, each district must send two of their people, a boy and a girl ranging from aged twelve to eighteen, who will be called "tributes" to participate in the Hunger Games. They will be thrown into an arena of outdoors and told to fight to death. The last one standing wins.

Azalea still remembers the first time her name was written on a white piece of paper in the glass ball with other scraps carrying names to be decided for death. The name drawn was not hers though it was a girl who was also twelve. Unlike many tributes drawn for the Games who stood silently or cried, the girl started screaming absurdities. She was hysterical and sobbing. That was the last that Azalea saw of the girl in person. She died the first day in the bloodbath.

Azalea prays that no twelve year old will be chosen. Azalea would volunteer—if she could muster the courage to do so. Volunteering is a rare feat in District 12. No one ever wants to take the place of the tribute in the poorer districts. Every night before the reapings, she would imagine brave Katniss, standing up for her sister, Primrose. She tells herself that she should do so just like Katniss did but she can never bring herself to. Not when the screaming twelve year old girl was taken away. Not during the other reapings. She wants to be brave but maybe this isn't the time to be brave.

Maybe being brave means being silent.

But if Laurel is chosen, would Azalea really volunteer? She's not sure and she's afraid of the answer. No, she's afraid that the answer will be no, she will not be selfless enough to volunteer. Instead, she may be selfish.

Don't be selfish, Azalea tells herself.

The mayor reads off the list of previous District 12 victors. District 12 only has five of them in all of the one hundred and seventy-three years so far. Azalea hopes that this year, the one hundredth and seventy-fourth year, it will be different. The entire square is silent as the names "Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark" are read. Today is the one hundred year anniversary of their Games. Luckily, the Capitol did not decide to do any twist to commemorate this day. And why should they, thinks Azalea, they were the ones who sparked the fire to the second Dark Days. A reason to remember the day would only remind the districts of the war against the Capitol they almost won.

Only one victor is still alive and she is around fifty. Her name is Bathilda Downing and she may as well be from the Capitol. Azalea hates her classy attitude and how she treats everyone around her like filth. She acts like she was never part of District 12. She acts like she was never a starving Seam girl.

The mayor introduces Herne Skywick, District 12's Capitol escort. His unnatural golden eyes scan over them in his cheerful manner. His hair is a deep shade of green and his skin appears to be slightly golden even in the dim light which indicates that it is fake. His suit is bright blue and it's an even darker shade of blue than the sky in District 12 on good days.

"Happy Hunger Games," Herne begins in his clipped, Capitol accent, "and may the odds be ever in your favour!" Daisy and Azalea have always found this line to be offensive.

Herne goes on about what an honour it is to be in District 12 and Azalea catches a grimace on Daisy's face. This is all pretense. District 12 is the least desirable district for the Capitol escorts. It had only been slightly desirable during Katniss' two years but otherwise, District 12 is almost filth to them. It's a wonder why they had even rebuilt District 12 after the second Dark Days. Perhaps it was to remind the citizens that every district is only there because the Capitol wishes it to be so. That idea brings a cynical smile to Azalea's lips before she drops it in favour of monotony.

"The gentlemen will be first!" Herne says, a wide smile on his face. He reaches into the glass ball which contains the names of the boys eligible for the Games. Azalea doesn't have any close friends who are boys so unlike the rest of District 12 she does not hold her breath.

Herne snatches the first paper his fingers touch. He holds it up and smiles at them knowingly. If only he knows how deadly that smile is to Azalea. She wants to hurt him by putting him through the same thing many District 12 inhabitants face. How can they be so blind to their own barbarous acts?

Herne pauses for dramatic effect and then says, "Chaise Hart!"

The name is foreign to Azalea's ears and she feels relieved and then guilty for feeling relieved. This is Chaise's death that she's feeling relieved for. Meanwhile, Daisy is motionless beside her.

Chaise steps out from the same section as Azalea. A seventeen year old boy. His blond hair is messy and his green eyes are blank as he walks towards the stage. He mounts the steps and Herne asks for volunteers. It's all very silent. No one rushes forward to volunteer in his spot. No one wants to suffer the death of the Hunger Games.

Azalea watches the boy on the stage with interest. Unlike many, his expression betrays no emotion. His green eyes are notable because not many in District 12 have green eyes. Also, they're an unnatural green shade. The green is too vibrant and deep. But unlike Herne's eyes, Azalea finds that it suits him well.

"And now… for the ladies," Herne says as he walks over to the other glass ball. Now Azalea really does hold her breath. Her heart is thumping so loud that she's afraid everyone will hear how fearful she is. She hopes that it won't be her name that he picks out of the glass ball. She hopes that it won't be Laurel either. Or—

"Daisy Hart!" Herne says before Azalea can finish her train of thoughts, his voice sounding too cheerful on the dreary occasion.

Azalea starts shaking all over. Daisy, her best friend was chosen for the Hunger Games. And… Daisy Hart… Of course…

The other tribute's name is Chaise Hart.

She vaguely remembers Daisy telling her that she has a fraternal twin brother though Azalea doesn't think that she's ever met him. Azalea looks from Chaise to Daisy and she realizes that anyone could see them as siblings even if they weren't identical. Both children of the Seam have a merchant's look.

Daisy begins to step forward towards the stage and the sight of Daisy's clenched fists, Azalea wakes up. She pushes pass the other seventeen year old girls and boys and run towards Daisy. Then she finds her voice.

"I volunteer!" Azalea say quietly in the silence that follows, not thinking of the consequences for herself. She cannot bear watching Daisy in that arena—pitted against her twin. She cannot bear watching that kind of injustice knowing that she could have done something. She knows it will eat away at her forever until she remains an empty husk like those who have lost their family in the Games. "I volunteer as tribute!"

The crowd of District 12 inhabitants are silent. Herne breaks the silence, "Oh wonderful! Not many volunteers these days," he says as if he doesn't know the reason. "And your name is?"

"Azalea Ever," she replies. Then her eyes widen as she realizes what she had done. In that moment of weakness, she had volunteered. She hadn't meant to volunteer for her death. It was a moment of weakness and she curses inwardly at herself. She can't turn back now. It will be a grave act of cowardice and she will be a pariah if she backs down now that she has told her name to the world. Azalea stares into the distance and pretends that she's not there. She pretends that the quick beating of her heart isn't there. She pretends that she hasn't just volunteered for the Hunger Games—her death.

The mayor finishes the Treaty of Treason and Chaise and Azalea are motioned to shake hands. Azalea is slightly reluctant but she complies. Their hands reach out to grasp onto each other and Azalea makes the mistake of looking into his eyes.

Chaise glares straight at her and emotion finally shows in those green orbs. Azalea is shocked to find anger and hatred as the main emotion being projected. And the emotion is being projected towards her. Shouldn't he be grateful that he's not fighting against his sister? But maybe… maybe he really does want to slit Daisy's throat. The thought makes Azalea horrified.

His cold, callous fingers are tight around Azalea's and they hold onto her in a way that is beginning to hurt. She can't help but thinking that he's trying to tell her something. Trying to tell her that he will be the one to kill her.

She doesn't know what she's done to him; she can only stare almost incredulously at him. The emotion in his eyes seem much too violent and bitter to be contained in his lanky figure. Azalea imagines what will happen if she removes the hatred and anger from his eyes and he begins to look… familiar. Desperate.

On the verge of death.

Azalea is about to place where she's gotten those impressions from but he releases her hand the very moment. Then he turns away and doesn't look at her again.

* * *

><p><strong>This used to be in first person, past-tense. But over time, I decided third-person, present-tense might be better because I have to revolve around many characters.<strong>


	3. Weakness

**~Weakness**

_The anthem ends and Azalea_ and Chaise are taken by the Peacekeepers to the Justice Building. All the while, Chaise tries to avoid Azalea's questioning gaze. He's so angered by her presence that he can just kill her right now.

But he doesn't need to because the Games will begin in a few days. Chaise knows that he can kill her and everyone will think that it's an accident. Or at least they will know that it's inevitable. He's disliked the girl since she stepped up. What was she trying to do? Look brave so she can boost her chances of sponsors?

Chaise's lips curls in distaste. He didn't want to be chosen for the Games but now that he is chosen he might as well try his best to survive. He's sure that he has a better chance of surviving albeit very slim against the richer district's tributes. He believes that he's doing Azalea a favor in killing her. A quick and painless death is better than a torturous one though he's almost sure that Azalea won't see the logic in that.

Chaise is shoved in one room while they take Azalea to another. Sitting on the velvety couch, he surveys the luxurious room. It's quite an improvement from his own shabby home in the Seam. The carpets are thick and deep. Chaise can't help but feeling a twinge of anger, because why can't_ he_ get all this stuff when the Capitol can? His mother has always told him not to say those things about the Capitol out loud because she fears that the Peacekeepers will punish him. Chaise personally doesn't care. Let them punish him, he will stand by his beliefs until the very end.

He sits on the couch, waiting for visitors to arrive. There is one hour for the tributes to say goodbye to their friends and family members (possibly forever) before they have to board the train which will take them to their death or glory.

Chaise can't accept his death, not like this and never like this. If he dies, he knows that he would have fought until his end. He may not be a true contender against the tributes from other districts but he knows that he will try. Already, Chaise is thinking of strategies to use for a better chance of winning. Trickery and deception is not his strongest points so he crosses out acting weak and deceiving others. He tries to think of another strategy. He can't attack straight out like the tributes from the wealthier districts. He's not too stocky but he has strength so maybe he can fit into their pack… if they allow him in.

The door opens and Chaise's head jerks up. The first visitor is here and it's his mother. He knows it's her despite the generic grey clothes because she's wearing two golden rings on her right hand, index and middle finger. Chaise wonders where his sister is. Seeing his mother sends a jolt of pain in his chest because despite all the tactics that he's coming up with, this may be the _last time he'll ever see her._

But Chaise knows that he can't cry. Shouldn't cry. There will be more cameras when he leaves this room to board the train. Crying is not an option and it never will be. He hasn't cried since… He can't remember.

"Oh Chaise!" His mother on the other hand has obviously been crying. Her eyes are bloodshot and her nose is red. She wraps him into a hug and sobs in his shoulder.

"I'm going to be okay," Chaise tells her with as much confidence as he can muster. Though his mother thinks opposite of this.

"What will we do without you?" she cries. "Why? Why choose my boy right after my husband?"

Chaise freezes up. This topic always leaves him feeling weak and pained and that's why he never wants to hear of it or even talk of it. The pain from thinking of this topic is enough to tempt him into shedding some tears. But luckily, he hasn't succumbed to that kind of weakness yet.

She holds Chaise at arm's-length and stares at him with a kind of sadness in her eyes that comes as new to Chaise. She's never looked at him like that—like she actually cares about him. The ache in his heart grows and he quickly pushes the thought away. If he doesn't think about these things, he won't cry.

She fumbles with the golden ring on her index and pulls it off of her finger. Chaise has always despised those golden rings. Why hadn't she sold them? Did she keep them for her own selfish reasons? Chaise knows that if she had sold the rings, they would have possibly made a fortune. But she didn't sell them. She keeps them on her fingers and never tells Chaise or Daisy why she keeps them.

"Here," she says, placing the ring she removed in his palm. He stares at it as if it's infectious. He doesn't want this, not when she can sell it for more money.

"No," Chaise says, holding his palm out back to her. "Take it and sell it. I might lose it in the arena." His mother doesn't take it from his hands. Instead, she reaches forward to curl Chaise's fingers around the cold ring.

"Keep it," she insists. "It's not mine. It's yours." Chaise, confused by these words, holds it towards himself and opens out up his palm to examine it. How could it be his when his mother always wears it? There's engraving on the inside of the ring. He squints until he can make out the word. It's a completely foreign name to Chaise. The engraving is fanciful enough for the aristocratic name.

"Someone made this for you?" Chaise says, incredulous. It would have cost a fortune! He has no idea why would she spend so much money on something like this. But his mother shakes her head.

"No," she says almost hesitantly. "When I… found you and Daisy… this was found in your carriage."

Chaise knows full well of the story that she's telling him. He isn't actually from District 12. He doesn't know where he's from. All he knows is that his foster father had come across his and Daisy's carriage in the woods. His carriage was torn and ripped so he suspects that he escaped from a poorer district. Chaise and Daisy have never told this secret to anyone. First of all, the Peacekeepers would wonder why in the world their father would be walking around in the prohibited woods. Then, Chaise and Daisy may as well be shunned from the community.

"If you don't come back, we'll take your token back if you still have it," his foster mother chokes out.

"I'll win," he tells her quickly. "I'll come back." He hesitates before he says the next words. Can he make a promise on these kinds of things? "I… hope." Hope is good but it's not a promise and Chaise's mother realizes that. She starts sobbing even more and Chaise has to pry himself off her. She's creating a dark wet stain on the back of his grey shirt.

"I hope you do come back," she manages to say before she leaves. She stops by the doorway, her eyes still bloodshot when she turns and looks back at Chaise. "You're… You're awfully brave. I believe in you."

When she leaves, Chaise feels an odd sensation. No one has ever believed in him before. He's never been very close to his mother and ever since his father died in the horrid accident they had grown even further apart. At one point, Chaise had come to believe that his mother hated him. He never stopped once to realize that he is her only son, foster or not. She would never hate him.

His eyes start to get blurry and he knows that this is a sign that he is going to cry. He hurriedly wipes away the forming tears. He is not going to cry. He is not going to cry. Chaise repeats this like a mantra in his head until the tears dry up but the leaden ache still remains.

The next visitor is Daisy, his sister. He wonders why she hadn't come in with his mother and the moment she speaks, he knows why.

"We could have been fighting against each other! Thank goodness that Azalea took your place, but she's… She's my best friend!" Chaise's eyes narrow at the mention of Azalea's name. A burning anger fills in him and pushes away all the pain. Maybe this is a good thing, he thinks, because anger takes away my sorrow.

"As-ail-lee-ah?" Chaise says, drawing her exotic name out slowly. Her name sounds very different from most District 12 dwellers. "She wanted to look selfless and brave so she would get more sponsors," Chaise says rather absentmindedly. He's already judged her as a deceiving girl who just wants the glory of winning. Still, Chaise can't help but feeling relieved that she has taken the place of his sister. He doesn't want to fight Daisy to death and if he has to, he knows that he won't sacrifice himself for her no matter how selfish it seems.

And he doesn't want that to happen on reality television. He doesn't want the entire world to see how selfish and dark his soul really is.

"She _is_ selfless and brave!" Daisy argues, wiping the spot around her eyes. "Why did the tributes have to be you and Azalea?"

"She's a Seam girl, isn't she?" he asks. The Seam is a nickname for the poorer community of District 12. He's not very curious about Azalea's life; this is for his survival. To win, he must know as much as possible about his enemies to find their weaknesses. He has always believed to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Azalea qualifies as his enemy right now. Maybe she really is a selfless, naive girl but she can also be the opposite and that is what Chaise is afraid of.

Daisy shakes her head. "She's a merchant's daughter," Daisy says. Chaise is confused by this. Her appearance clearly marked her off as someone from the Seam. Her skin is olive and much darker than his fair skin and her eyes are a stormy grey. But he should know that appearances don't reveal everything seeing that he has the look of a merchant's son.

And green eyes of a Capitol inhabitant.

Chaise pushes the thought away all while fidgeting with the golden ring that his mother had given him. He doesn't know the exact meaning of this because if he and Daisy had been from a poor district how would he have the ring? Maybe the Capitol did some altering with his eyes back in his old district wherever it is. Maybe the ring is something that ties him to a subject the Capitol had decided to toy with.

That is not a good thought. Chaise has an urge to throw the ring away but this is the only thing that also ties him to District 12, the district he grew up in. Daisy notices the ring on his finger and points to it.

"Is that from mother?" she asks in fascination. Chaise nods. "She gave it as a token?" Her voice is filled with envy.

He takes it off and holds it towards her. Daisy hesitantly takes the ring from his palm and examines it with wide, curious eyes.

"Mother said she found it… when father found us," Chaise says tentatively, looking around for any cameras. He doesn't need the Peacekeepers to know this. Even though his father has died in the worst possible way Chaise knows just as well that they can find other means of punishment.

Though the Peacekeepers in District 12 are not exactly strict, they are not very lax either. Some Peacekeepers will let you go while the others are stricter and possibly more public about their punishments. Chaise knows that he never wants to be caught by the Peacekeepers. Especially since he poaches the woods at least once a week with his sister. Most of the time, they take turns poaching the woods and sometimes they do not cross the fence for weeks if the Peacekeepers are being extra diligent.

Daisy reads the name on Chaise's token out loud, stumbling over the sibilance of the name. "What do you think the other one will say?" she then asks. Chaise shrugs because he honestly doesn't know. The other ring might have been another aristocratic name but in feminine form. Daisy gives the ring back to her brother and they sit in silence for a while. Chaise wonders if she's thinking about the same thing as he is: the question of their birth. Though Chaise shows indifference whenever the topic arises, inside he desperately wants to know. And while his foster parents are wonderful and anything he could have asked for, he still wonders about the ones who abandoned him.

The question is more like: why did they abandon him along with Daisy? Chaise wants to know one day but he is dubious that he will ever find the answer to that question. He knows he has to let go of that curiosity. He may die in that arena and never find out and he doesn't want that to be his regret.

In fact, he doesn't want any regrets at all. But that's not all too hard for him because he does not care about others. If he cares, he knows that it will be the downfall of him and Chaise finds it stupid for something as trivial as that to bring him down.

He doesn't need to love other people like how Daisy and some other boy from the Seam does. He doesn't need that. Not when he has himself. Love is the greatest weakness and Chaise will be a fool to ever succumb to it.

It's silent between the two twins. Daisy finally breaks the silence. "I don't know who I want to come back," she admits quietly. "Azalea is my best friend. And you're my brother. I—I'm so split between you two!" Chaise looks up in surprise at her outburst at the end. Daisy's hands are clenched around her grey skirt and her blue eyes are swimming in tears. She blinks once and a tear slips down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," Chaise says quietly. He does not know how to deal with emotions, especially with girls like Daisy. "At least you're not fighting me," he says. He doesn't tell Daisy that he is relieved of that too—and not for the same reasons a normal person would have.

Because love is the greatest weakness, he can't allow himself to care for anyone. It hasn't been too hard, really. It's not hard when all you're ever used to is loss and despair. He has learned to shut out feelings such as love long ago. And while he does care for Daisy in a brotherly way, he can't bring himself to feel long-term remorse over killing Daisy if it ever comes to it. And without Azalea stepping in, he's afraid that this will show in the arena. He's afraid that this will be broadcasted to all of Panem so they can see what a heartless person he is.

He doesn't care if Daisy lives or dies. He simply cannot find himself caring. And perhaps that is the worse part in his resolve to not care. He's anything but empathetic.

But, Chaise thinks, that will be a strength once the Games start.

A slow smile creeps across his face as he considers this. Finally, a good plan has come into his mind. "Daisy," he says softly, "I apologize if I kill your friend, but I promise that I will try my best to win. I swear to it." This promise is not for anyone but himself. It is a selfish promise.

Daisy already has her back turned on him. "That's the thing," she whispers, and he knows that tears are streaming down her face now. And she whispers something so quietly that he can barely hear it unless he strains. But he does hear it.

"I don't even know if I want you to win."

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, I just read this and then the older version and realized how much more developed this storyline is. Sorry for the late update! .<strong>

**And if you're a new reader, I can give you the link to the older (albeit poorly written) version of this story if you want. It has spoilers though. I suggest you stick to the good version. *points at the letters above***

**And thank you for reviews! They are absolutely amazing!**

_Next chapter: ~Strength_


	4. Strength

**~Strength**

_Like being shoved underwater_ every time she tries to take a breath, Azalea is suffocating from the inside. She hears the words play over and over again in her mind. _I volunteer as tribute_. Those four simple words have determined her fate, her life, her death.

She replays the words over again in her mind like a mantra. Why did she say them? Why? She buries her face in her hand. The words her mother had told her so many years ago repeat in her mind: it is easier to play hero than be faced with the true consequences later.

Her mind flashes back to the moment where the puzzle pieces clicked together; when she found out that the male tribute is her best friend's sister who turned out to be the female tribute. She knows that she cannot watch that kind of injustice on screen. That's why she stepped up.

Now selfishness is beginning to take over her senses. Why had she volunteered? Out of all available tributes, why would Azalea herself volunteer? She felt terrified but brave when she volunteered. Now the bravery has faded away and all that remains is fear that begins to gnaw away at the thin walls that her valour placed.

She slumps against the velvety couch and looks at the plush carpet on the floor, moving her worn slippers in a circular motion around the carpet. Words repeat in her head and this time, it isn't and will never be words that come out of her mouth. She is not a pessimist.

Face it, they say, you're going to die. Just face it.

No, she responds, shoving the voices back into the recesses of her mind that is otherwise left untouched. The thoughts hiss at her before settling deep inside of her mind, always a part of her, but not apparent at the moment. She lets out a sigh of relief as if the burden has been lifted from her shoulders.

The door opens and in steps a girl with her wavy blonde hair twisted into a high ponytail. Her blue eyes are wide and filled with fear. Azalea can see them sparkling with tears that are ready to fall but she's not giving in to it.

She takes a few steps into the room and then stops, looking at Azalea and taking a deep breath. Azalea doesn't know what to say so she just looks back at Daisy and offers her a smile. The smile feels much too wide on her face and she knows that Daisy can see that she's faking it.

"I'm sorry," Daisy finally says, her voice catching at the end. She takes a deep breath in and then averts her eyes from Azalea's. She looks down at the carpet, not wanting to meet Azalea's eyes.

"It's all right," Azalea says, but even her own voice sounds hollow in her ears. She tries to convince herself that she only sounds that way because of her own thoughts. "It's not your fault." There's an unspoken sentence there: it's the Capitol's fault.

"If I wasn't chosen, you wouldn't feel obligated to volunteer," she whispers, still staring at the ground.

Azalea wants to say that she wasn't obligated. She's never obligated to do anything. She does things on her free will. She always does things on her free will. But the moment she thinks of that, a sinking feeling begins in her stomach. She did feel obligated to volunteer for Daisy but it isn't because Daisy is her best friend. It's because she can't stand to watch Daisy be pitted against her own brother.

She shivers as she thinks about Chaise's cold green eyes upon her. She wouldn't she surprised if he is watching her now through a security camera. Azalea's heart begins to pump faster at the thought of Chaise. She's never done anything to him so why is he so cold towards her? In fact, shouldn't he be thankful that Azalea stepped forward? But maybe he truly does want a justified chance to kill his twin and Azalea ruined it. Maybe that's why Daisy has never mentioned Chaise before. There must be some kind of mutiny between the siblings.

"Daisy, it's all right," Azalea says, repeating her earlier words. "It wouldn't be any different anyway. I can't watch you be forced through all that on screen." She doesn't clarify what 'all that' means. If she speaks about Chaise, Daisy will continue to blame herself.

"I can't watch the same to you! We're best friends. We'll always be best friends no matter what. The Games can't come in-between that. The universe can't come in-between that. Death can't come in-between that." Daisy cries out and she rushes over to Azalea and hugs her tightly, making sobbing noises. A lump begins at the back of Azalea's throat and her eyes begin to water. She knows she shouldn't cry because it'll just be a sign of weakness to the other tributes. "We'll still be friends, right? Best friends."

Azalea nods, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. Tears are seen as weakness.

She's not weak, but she's not a contender in the Games either. "It's all right," Daisy tells herself, repeating Azalea's words, her voice cracked. "Don't cry."

Finally, Daisy lets go and the two friends stare at each other. Daisy wipes away the trickle of tears that run down her face and she smiles through her tears. "You should cry," Azalea informs her. "Crying is like letting go of all the feelings inside and just having them surface. To be able to cry is a hidden strength that most people see as a weakness." Daisy wipes away more tears and then reaches in the front pocket of her dress and pulls out a small wooden flute the length of her index finger and presses it into Azalea's palm.

"Chaise wouldn't say the same," Daisy says. Before Azalea can ask Daisy about her twin, the door opens and Peacekeepers march in. Her time is up. They both nod at each other. And Daisy exits the room with the Peacekeepers. Azalea feels like she needs to say something memorable to her best friend but she can't find the right words. In the end, Daisy turns and gives her one last look before disappearing through the door.

Azalea sighs and slumps against the chair, tightening her hand around the last gift Daisy had given her. She has a sinking feeling that she's going to face her own mortality in the arena and never see Daisy ever again. It's a horrible thought and she pushes it out of her head immediately though she doesn't try to contradict it because she thinks that it's true.

She can't kill people. She can kill animals, but not people. There's a sort of difference between humans and animals. It's different when you're one of the species you're trying to kill. It's another kind of insanity than to murder a helpless animal. She can't stand the thought of plunging a knife into someone's back and watching the light fade from their eyes. They are human beings. She is a human being. She won't let the Capitol twist her to be something like that. She can't let that happen.

Especially when she knows that there are people in other districts hoping for their return. To destroy that kind of hope is to destroy someone's life. She knows that well enough.

She just wishes that she can somehow survive the Games without killing. She can't stand the thought of plunging a knife into flesh and letting the blood flow from the wound. She can't. Her eyes squeeze tight and she forces the image away from her mind.

By volunteering for the Games, what has she agreed to do?

Before she can mull over it and face her reality, the door opens and three people head inside the room. It's a ragged looking man and a woman with a child not much younger than Azalea. When the yellow-haired girl sees Azalea, she lets out a strangled cry and runs into Azalea's outstretched arms before bawling.

"Shh," Azalea whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek as she pats Laurel's back. "Laurel, it's all right."

But Laurel continues to cry until her face is blotchy and red. Even then, she continues to cry. "I don't want this to happen," she whispers. "Azalea, tell them that it's a mistake. Tell them."

"I can't," Azalea tells her. "The choice was mine to make and it was already made."

"Why didn't I volunteer instead?" Laurel cries and Azalea holds her tighter, knowing that she would definitely step up if Laurel had been chosen. Now that she thinks about it, she wonders about Chaise. Had the male tribute had not been Chaise, would she had stepped up?

A shiver runs down her spine. She knows the answer to that. She wouldn't have stepped up. Instead, she would have worn her mask of cowardice and watched as Daisy mounted the steps to her place as a tribute from the twelfth district.

She's not exactly sure if she's glad that Chaise is the male tribute. She doesn't want to participate in the Games. She never wanted that. But at the same time, she's glad that she has the bravery to step up when certain conditions are put into action.

"It's all right," Azalea keeps saying. It's being repeated so often that it sounds much too hollow to be truthful. Like a rose that Azalea has been giving away too often only to have it shoved back in her face, the words are wilting.

"No, it's not," her father says, speaking up for the first time. Her mother isn't looking at her. It's as if she can't even bear the sight of her daughter any longer. From his pocket, he pulls out a silver necklace and presses it into Azalea's palm. "It's not all right. We're not going to be all right."

Tears are streaming from her mother's eyes and her father is blinking to keep his tears in. Azalea feels the lump rise and she quickly averts her eyes and stares at the necklace in her hand.

The chain is made of tiny little loops that ring around each other until the clasp at the very back. A tiny charm of an impression of water waves no bigger than her thumb hangs at the front.

Her mother is sobbing now. Her hands over her mouth to muffle the sounds of angst that comes from her lips. Azalea looks to her neck and realizes that this necklace, this token is something her mother wears around her neck all the time. Taking the small flute that Daisy had given her, she attaches the loop onto the necklace.

Giving it to Azalea must mean a great deal to her and Azalea's vision blurs with tears. She closes her hand over the necklace.

"I'll miss you. We won't be all right without you," Laurel says, still sobbing into her shirt.

"You won't," Azalea says, finding this as something she can promise on. It's the very least she can do for them. "But you will be."

~[*]~

After the visiting hours are over and after the Peacekeepers have managed to drag Azalea's family out, she stares at the charm necklace in her palm. Then, she slides it over her head onto her neck when the doors opens again. This time, no family or friends rush in to greet her. It's the Peacekeepers and Chaise is standing beside them, looking worn and tired.

The expression looks both familiar and foreign and he must have known that she caught a sign of weakness on his face because he quickly averts his green eyes from hers. Azalea feels her cheeks warm for some unknown reason and she averts her eyes too. The vibrant green ghosts still dance in her peripheral vision even when she has already looked away. The green is so deep that it might as well have been a new colour on its own.

The Peacekeepers lead them silently to the car that will take them from the Justice Building to the train station. When they reach the black automobile, Azalea hesitates, feeling an odd sensation as she stares at it. She must have been staring too long because Chaise shoots her a look and Azalea pushes the feeling away. She enters the car and tries not to think about that feeling of remembrance.

The ride to the train station is faster than Azalea expects. Within minutes, she is stumbling out of the car, the charms on her necklace clanging against each other. The train station is swarming with cameras and Azalea averts her eyes from every lens that point in her direction. She's glad to keep her eyes trained steadily on the ground as the cameras try to zoom in for a better view of her. She doesn't want to appear on the pictures. It feels so violating. People are whispering and shoving each other to get a better view of the pictures like she's an exotic animal put up on display. Disgust clenches in her stomach. Isn't it enough to shove children in an arena? Why do they have to go through all the false revere too?

She reaches the doorway of the sleek train. The cameras take in their last image of her before she boards her death and then the doors slide shut, with Chaise beside her. As soon as the door closes, the train moves instantly—faster than anything that Azalea has ever been on before. She wishes the train is slower. The faster it is, the earlier she will meet her demise. She'd rather draw out her fall than have it be immediate. Though she knows death is imminent, no matter how much she wishes she can be back with Laurel and her family. Being chosen for the Games is an ultimatum—a death sentence.

One that she knows she can't make it out of.

Azalea has survived many things. She knows she has the ability to survive, just not the right abilities to survive the Games.

She's led away to her chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water at the press of a button. The room and corridors are so lavishly decorated that Azalea can't help but marvel at it. By the soft snort that comes from Chaise when Azalea stares too long at a lamp, Azalea realizes that she's being much too obvious about this awe and she looks away, feeling embarrassed to be caught for some unknown reason.

She enters her chambers, feeling glad to be away from Chaise's scrutinizing glare. He's already taking the Games at heart, keeping his enemies close enough to make observations. Azalea shivers, thinking about those cold eyes. Chaise and Daisy may have some sort of enmity that she's not aware of. That must be it. Otherwise, why would he be so cold towards her after she saved Daisy?

Herne had cheerfully informed her that she could wear whatever she wanted. Everything is at her disposal here. After taking a warm shower, she rummages through the drawers and picks out a blouse the colour of the sky and a pair of brown pants that fit snugly against her hips.

Azalea can't help but wonder why the Capitol does through all the trouble of prepping up everything when she's just been determined for slaughter. Is it really necessary? But of course, there are still the viewers from the Capitol to take into consideration. They like seeing their fresh meat all nice and primped before they're slaughtered on reality television.

Herne comes to take Azalea for dinner as the day progresses. She walks down the narrow corridors with Herne in the lead and they reach a dining room with polished panel walls. There's a long table filled with easily breakable dishes. Chaise is already there and he's staring gloomily out the window. Bathilda Downing sits across from Chaise, her posture composed and her expression bored. She sips hot tea from the rim of a cup with intricate designs, looking over the top of the cup at Azalea.

Azalea has enough with the scrutiny she is receiving in one day. Herne takes a seat beside Bathilda, leaving only one left. Azalea, resigned, takes the seat next to Chaise. She waits for him to glare stonily at her but he doesn't even glance at her.

Herne tells them to start eating and they do. Bathilda keeps that calm and tidy gesture. Not wanting to be ostentatious, Azalea tries not to stuff herself. She's never had food this scrumptious before.

Chaise is eating in tiny intervals. Then he stares out the window again, watching the scenery rush past them. Azalea can't bear to look at it because it reminds her that she's travelling miles away from home. It hurts to look at it and know that she's getting closer and closer to her death.

Her eyes move from the window to Chaise Hart, her fellow tribute. His green eyes are fixed on the window and his lips are moving softly, as if uttering quiet words. The hatred is gone from his eyes and he looks so serene that Azalea can't help staring at him.

Oh, she thinks, he's handsome.

Of course she has realized that before. She realized that when she caught sight of him in the school yard about five years ago before she even knew who he was. When she had looked at him, she was hit by a sense of déjà vu. She has no idea where that had come from in the first place.

Chaise glances over for the first time and his expression is unguarded for a mere second. He frowns at Azalea, his eyebrows knitting together. Then the mask falls into place and his eyes are blank. Azalea quickly averts her eyes, not wanting to be caught staring in his direction any longer.

During the whole meal, Herne blabbers about the Games and how he hopes that District 12 will make it further than the previous years. He goes on to comment on Azalea's choice of clothing, which she politely thanks his comments, and Chaise's eyes. Chaise nods in response to Herne's comment which leads Azalea to believe that he's not really listening at all. He's lost in his own world—a vulnerable position. She has the urge to stare at him again but she keeps her eyes fixated on her soup. She doesn't want to be caught staring again.

When the meal is over, Herne leads them to another compartment where they watch the recap of the reapings. Azalea doesn't want to but she has to anyway. She's not going to study the other tributes she deems as contenders. She's not going to pick out their strengths or weaknesses. At the most, she's going to avoid them. That's her motivation to keep her going.

The districts go in order. District 2 has always had the most aggressive tributes and Azalea winces inwardly when she catches sight of them. Both are large and have dark looks in their eyes. The boy is chosen and the girl volunteers, glaring at the crowd as if to dare anyone else to take that spot away from her.

The other Career district—District 4, surprisingly has tributes that lack the strength that District 1 and District 2 portray so far. The male tribute is called and no one volunteers. A girl in the background cries his name but the cameras move away from her as quickly as they have landed. Azalea frowns at this. The Career districts are usually the ones who support the Games the most. The female tribute is a small girl who looks younger than Laurel. She looks at the crowd solemnly. The girl who was crying tries to speak up but the female tribute gives her a look that makes the girl shut her mouth.

Before Azalea can dwell on that any longer, the reapings go on. Two other districts catch her attention. District 6 is not a district that supports many victors but Azalea is captivated by the female tribute. At first, she's unsure of the tribute's gender. The shapeless clothing define no curves, but the tribute's face has hints of femininity. Their Capitol escort declares the tribute as District 6's female even over the tribute's hateful glare. She's around Laurel's age but she is a dark horse on her own. Her eyes are stormy and dark. They glare hatefully over the crowd with even more emotion than Chaise held. When the cameras zoom in on her, she catches sight of red and white marks on his arms but the cameras veer away too quickly for her to make sense of it.

They look like scars, she tells herself. But they can't be. What would have caused them? Surely they have an electrical fence to keep the animals out even if the fence isn't electrical all the time.

The next district's female tribute is possibly the most out of place tribute. When she's chosen, she smiles brightly and walks onto the stage, showing white teeth. Her hair is curly and red—the colour of the dying sun. Her facial features are odd—there's something about the delicate nose and the almond shaped eyes that distinguish her from the rest.

Finally, one district before hers, Azalea sees them.

In District 11, two tributes are chosen. Azalea has watched the reapings enough times to know that District 11 holds numerous inhabitants. It's almost never ending.

So it can't be a coincidence. It's much deeper than that.

The Capitol is playing a game within the Games.

And Azalea thwarted that. What will they do to her now?

Drawn from the bowl are siblings—Rowena and Rowan Kurn. Azalea stares as the siblings mount the stage. No one volunteers. There is no District 11 equivalent of Azalea Ever.

It's like an icy fist has plunged itself into her heart and she looks at the tiled floor, trying hard not to think about the siblings that will now have to fight each other.

District 12 appears at last. Chaise is called. Then Daisy. In that moment of silence, the pieces click together and Azalea watches herself all over again, volunteering and then shaking hands with Chaise. The commentator briefly comments that it was such a 'coincidence' that two pairs of siblings were chosen. It was only luck that Azalea stepped forward. Then they go to comment on Chaise's vibrant green eyes and Azalea sees that Chaise clenches his hands when he hears this.

After District 12's reapings, District 13 comes up. A skinny girl and a tall boy are chosen but the commentators are still talking about Chaise's eyes.

When the recaps finish, Herne pushes it even further to mention that Chaise's eyes might even be made into a fashion statement at the Capitol. That shade of green, he says, is absolutely lovely.

Azalea winces inwardly at this comment. That is the worst compliment anyone could give someone from District 12. They don't want to be made into fashion statements. They're human—they just want to live. They don't want to be made into trends and then forgotten like their lives had weighted nothing.

Chaise looks over at Azalea at that moment and catches her expression. Azalea wants to look away but she's staring again. She cannot deny that his green eyes really are beautiful.

The same way that she cannot deny that they are unnatural.

Azalea expects Chaise to glower at her but he doesn't. Instead, his lips slowly curve up at her expression. It's a smile so small that it can be mistaken as a grimace. But Azalea knows what it is. Though the moment the smile begins to take place, it disappears and is replaced by a scowl.

"Thanks," he mumbles to Herne, playing polite. From the corner of her vision, Azalea watches as Bathilda narrow her eyes at him.

Chaise notices it too and he narrows his eyes at her. Herne doesn't catch this and continues to ramble on and on about his eyes. Azalea feels like she's being constrained and she gets up, her legs feeling stiff. "I'm going to sleep now," she announces. Normally, she would just leave quietly but she feels the need to break apart the tension in the air from Chaise and Bathilda.

"See you in the morning!" Herne says in his clipped Capitol accent. Azalea nods numbly and begins to head down the shaking corridors and back to her chambers.

"Me too," Chaise announces much to Azalea's surprise. He gets up and follows her out of the room.

Just when the reach the door, their mentor calls out to them, her voice sneering. "Are you two thinking of playing the star-crossed lovers? That trick stopped working after the Seventy-Fourth Games."

Azalea wretches the door open and the corridors stare back at her. She wonders if she can run down this hallway, away from the sneering words that her mentor is throwing like knives. She had never liked Bathilda Downing very much. Though Bathilda never approached Azalea back in District 12, she could hear Bathilda yelling at the Seam kids who try to look for leftovers at Victor's Village. Now being confronted with the witch herself, Azalea doesn't know how to react.

But Chaise does. "No," he says, his voice forced and angry. "Of course not."

"Now, now," Herne begins but Bathilda cuts him off.

"That's good, seeing as that theme is much too overplayed. The other districts have tried to play the same thing but it doesn't take a genius to see what's false." She laughs at them. The sound of her laugh is high-pitched and wicked sounding. Azalea abhors it.

"With the girl faking a helpless damsel in distress who couldn't hurt a fly and the boy attempting at being a traitorous, cold and calculating killing machine, things won't work out." Bathilda laughs again.

Silence befalls the room and Azalea is frozen. Her mind numbly registers that Chaise is also frozen in spot. Bathilda has struck a truth. Though Azalea doesn't know the same for Chaise, she knows what Bathilda said about her is true.

_Faking a helpless damsel in distress who couldn't hurt a fly._

How does Bathilda know this?

Chaise responds first. "You're wrong," he says, his voice icy and void of emotion. "Committing mutiny is not what I do." He glances at Azalea. "And I don't fall in love with anyone."

He walks out the open door and Azalea follows behind him, ducking her head and staring at the floor as she leaves. She can still hear Bathilda's ringing laughter long after the door is closed.

~[*]~

The walk back to their rooms is silent until Azalea reaches her door. Not wanting to be rude, she clears her throat. "Goodnight," she says softly to Chaise. She's about to open the door when Chaise suddenly turns around and pins her to the wall faster than she can react, his taller frame having an advantage over hers.

"What are you doing?" she says, suddenly frightful. Is he going to hurt her? He can't; it's against the rules. But lately, the Capitol hasn't been playing along with the rules. The reapings are supposed to be a random draw. Azalea knows enough to tell that the pair of siblings that were chosen this year is much more than a coincidence—it was on purpose. For what reason, she can only guess.

Chaise doesn't answer, his eyes void of emotions. Instead, he closes the space in-between them and presses his lips to hers, parting her lips with his.

A shiver goes through Azalea at the touch of his lips and she finds herself involuntarily wanting more of him. As if he can hear her silent desires, he presses his body closer. Azalea runs her fingers through his soft hair, marveling at the touch of it. A feeling of flying comes over Azalea and she pulls him closer to him, wanting to meld them together.

But then he pulls away and Azalea feels cold when his arms aren't around her, suddenly realizing that he's just playing with her. She wraps her arms around her chest, trying to hide how startled she feels. It was a trap and Azalea walked right into it with her heart in her palm. If she can pretend she didn't mean it either, maybe Chaise won't play with her emotions again. "What was that for?" she asks, her voice a quiet whisper in the empty corridor. It's so quiet that it might as well have been swept away with the wind.

Chaise smiles but it's not the same smile as before. It's mocking and Azalea hates the hurt feeling that suddenly runs through her. How can he make her feel this way? She isn't in love with him. She's only just met him. But something about the way he just took her heart and crushed it between his fingers before handing it back to her makes her squirm uncomfortably.

"We can prove Bathilda wrong and play star-crossed lovers," he says, grinning maliciously. "It all depends on how well you act."

And he leaves, whistling a nursery tune that Azalea has always hated, sounding happier than ever. He leaves Azalea standing by the door, feeling lost and abandoned.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the late upload. Just trying to improve my writing. Are any of the old readers still trying to catch up with this? Anyways, the chapters might come faster but I'm still working on my publishing manuscript (if anyone wants to help me edit my first draft, just PM me with your email). Reviews are amazing, as usual! :)<strong>

_Next chapter: ~The Hunter_**  
><strong>


	5. The Hunter

**~The Hunter**

_Chaise wasn't always _this way. He knows he wasn't. He just can't remember when he felt above the pettiness the world offered. There was more smiling, more forgiveness. Most of all, there was selflessness.

There are no remnants of this anymore. He doesn't smile often and when he does, it's when he's satisfied with something from his own doing. He scoffs at forgiveness—what is there to forgive when they have already done wrong to you? And most of all, he despises selflessness. There's nothing to gain from it. That's a trait that only imbeciles retain after they've grown up to see the world as it truly is; to see the world without the kaleidoscope glasses that are snatched away the moment the children have outgrown them.

The world is cold and unforgiving. The Hunger Games that the districts are forced through every year is a prime example of that. Though sometimes, Chaise wishes that he had never seen the world for what it truly is. It would have been better to live in oblivion. Ignorance is bliss.

He knows one thing though: something had hastened the speed of the gradual awakening to the world. If he thinks hard enough, he can almost feel the pain shooting through him. There was a streak of black, and then there was excruciating pain from his chest. His arms and legs felt too heavy to lift and the ground was cracked and dry beneath him. He can still remember struggling for breath. And there was white too—whether it is a dress or a ribbon, he can't remember. The details are a little blurry now. All he remembers is a dark-haired girl that stared at him inquiringly before rushing away like she had not seen him dying.

He clenches his fist, thinking about that flash of black and white. If only he can remember her face. He may have even been able to track her down and then…

And then what? He's not sure but he's half glad that he can't remember what she looks like. He's not entirely heartless enough to want her dead for something that happened at least a decade ago. If he ever recognized her now, he might have put a knife through her heart out of anger. She saw him suffering and at that time, he was weak enough to ask for help. She looked at him and walked away.

Bitterness swells up within him until he is able to squash it down. There's no point in thinking about her anymore. She's gone. He'll never plan out any sort of vengeance unless he wins the Games. There's no time to be thinking about old troubles when new ones arise.

He lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling and starts to plan for the Games. Maybe he should team up with the stronger tributes from the Career districts. Then when they split up, he can wait until they kill off each other and emerge victorious… assuming that they don't put a knife in his back before the top eight.

Suddenly, he thinks of Azalea Ever. All he can see now is a girl standing alone in the corridors, staring at him like he's just ruined her. He remembers the hurt in her eyes. And the way she tasted. He still feels the sweetness of her lips on his and the soft sigh that exited her lips when he brought her closer.

Closing his eyes, he shoves the memory away from his mind. He cannot think about things like this. Azalea Ever is just someone he will use for further means of survival. She is nothing to him but a snivelling little girl who couldn't keep her heart carefully hidden under her sleeves.

Still, the image of her dark eyes lingers. It's not that he's fallen in love with her. Love is a silly, weak thing that Chaise. He'd never fall in love with a girl like Azalea, much less his fellow tribute while he should be worrying about his own survival. It's that her eyes look achingly familiar though he just can't remember why.

His fists clench again and he fights the urge to pound them against the wall, knowing that it is counterproductive and will only end up in him hurting himself. He hates not being able to remember things. It's a handicap and Chaise hates the feeling of not knowing.

He closes his eyes, letting the shadows of night creep over him to obscure his vision. He doesn't want to look at the chambers anymore. His fingers find the golden ring and fidgets with it, thinking about the words his mother had spoken. Of course, thinking of that also reminds Chaise of Daisy's final words. After she said them, they stared at each other. Then Daisy took a deep breath but before she could speak again, the Peacekeepers entered the room and pulled her out. Chaise isn't sure whether he's glad that he hadn't heard Daisy's final words or not.

The ring is warmed from the heat that comes from his skin, reminding him that he is very much human and may face his mortality in the arena no matter how many times he tries to convince himself of his false superiority. Very much human similar to the world beyond the fences of District 12 even though it may not seem like it.

The woods; it was there where he was found by his foster father.

It's no wonder why it feels more like a home than anything else he's ever known.

~[*]~

He woke up to the sound of muffled cries from his mother. It was always like this after _he _died. Not a day went past without her crying rivers. If it kept up, Chaise would have enough water to keep thirst from ever setting foot in his household again. He hated the sound of her crying. He didn't understand why she was so weak. She could be strong and continue living her life, but she chose to succumb to bone-numbing weakness.

Without someone to bring in money for the family, the resources were slowly dwindling. Chaise wouldn't admit it out loud but he honestly didn't know what to do.

_Sign up for tessera. _That is his first answer for everything but the month of May after he turned twelve was much too far away to think about. But they could hold on, could they? They just had to wait out a year and a half. It couldn't be very long. He would have Daisy too.

But his mother could barely sew after the passing. All she did was cry and cry like she was incapable of doing anything else. As the days began to past, Chaise was feeling more desperate to just _do _something about it. He already spent so long depending on others. How would he ever know to fend for himself if he never had experience? Experience is everything, Chaise believed.

So that was why today would be different.

A ten and a half year old boy would help stop the slow descent to starvation his family was making.

It even sounded silly in his head, much less spoken out loud. He had Daisy, though. Two ten and a half year olds would make all the difference, would it?

Chaise doubted it but faith was what made all the difference. If faith didn't keep him going, what would? There was nothing else he could hope on except his own capabilities. He could hope on that.

Getting up and stretching, Chaise glanced over at Daisy's bed. She was soundly sleeping, unaware of her surroundings. Chaise prodded her hard in the stomach and Daisy jolted with a yelp, her blue eyes snapping awake.

Daisy scowled at him but it didn't quite make it on her face. It was more of a smile than anything. "That wasn't very nice," she said, rubbing a hand over the spot where Chaise prodded her. Usually, he would humour her and reply with a joke back to her but today was a serious day. Today was the day where they would carry the weight of living on their shoulders.

"It's time to go," was all Chaise said. The jocular expression dropped off Daisy's face and she nodded curtly, only stopping to glance out the dirt-specked window with a worried expression. Chaise didn't blame her.

After washing up with cold water, the twins stepped outside the charcoal walls of their house and into the early winter morning. The sun was just over the horizon, its' radiance obscured by smoky clouds of the winter day. Chaise exhaled and watched his breath fog up in the cold air. Of all times to choose, winter was the worse. Though he didn't have much of a choice. He couldn't wait for winter to thaw and for life to bloom again. It would be too long of a wait.

Putting on a threadbare jacket and worn winter boots, Chaise surveyed the area, looking for any signs of life. More importantly he was looking for the telltale sterile white uniform that could mean his death if he was caught.

There was nothing. No one would wander around in the cold when the morning just touched District 12. As diligent as the Peacekeepers can be, they would much rather curl up in their warm homes than traipse in the snow to look for rule breakers.

"Are you sure about this?" Daisy asked Chaise. He nodded but Daisy was still hesitant even as they set out to the fences.

"You can stay back if you don't want to go," Chaise said. It was meant to be just a statement but it came out as a sneer. Lately, Chaise had been doing this much too often. Though he was sorry it came out like that, he couldn't find the words for an apology so he didn't say them.

"But are you sure that Cole is right?" Daisy asked, always persistent to the very end. Chaise was getting annoyed of having to answer these questions. In the end, it was really her choice whether she wanted to believe the person they were meeting up with.

"I don't know," Chaise said, keeping his eyes on his destination; always on his goal. "You have to decide that for yourself."

The rest of the walk was silent except for the crunching of snow beneath their boots. Chaise was getting cold but he never complained once about it. If he was going to learn to take care of himself, he would have to keep his protests and complaints locked inside of him.

Finally, they reached the Meadow. In the winter it looked even more devoid of life than it usually did, like the final resting place for a corpse. Past the Meadow were the forbidden woods and between them was a high chain-linked fence topped with barbed-wire loops. The fences were electrical and said to work at all hours of the day.

Only an idiot would believe that, Chaise thought. District 12 was lucky to have two to three hours of electricity in the evenings so he would take his bet to say that the fence wasn't electrocuted at the moment or he'd be a very unlucky person.

Not to mention that Cole would probably be mad at them for never arriving and being in the cold for so long.

"I'll look around for Peacekeepers," Daisy whispered, surveying the area. "You look for weak spots in the fence."

"Not that hard," Chaise murmured, indicating with a tilt of his head to the loose fencing at the bottom, careful not to point to it in case someone was passing by or watching them from a hidden area. "Sometimes I wonder why they don't even bother to fix it."

"Maybe they don't have enough time?" Daisy suggested but Chaise dismissed that idea. The Peacekeepers had plenty of time to do whatever they wanted. Cole said that they left the loose chains there because the Peacekeepers weren't really that cold-hearted and many turned a blind eye to the poachers. Chaise didn't think so. The fence was made for two reasons: to keep wild animals out, and to keep people in. He thought that they left it there as a statement to all those who wanted to exit the district boundaries. It was like saying: is life here bad enough that you would risk death to leave?

But of course, Chaise had been a cynic for a long time. Maybe they just didn't care.

While Daisy cleared the area, Chaise slid under the wires. Halfway, his worn jacket was caught by the sharpened ends of the loose wires and he let out a growl of frustration. He touched the cold wires with his fingers, hoping that it wouldn't suddenly be turned on. Pulling it loose from the fabric of his jacket, Chaise slid the rest of the way out of the district and into the woods.

Now away from the district, Chaise felt like he was breathing from a different atmosphere even though only a chain-linked fence separated them. He felt healthier and freer: like he had been a bird trapped in a cage all its life and was now being released back into the wild.

Daisy slid through a little clumsier than Chaise's try. After coming out on the other side, Daisy stood up, shaking the snow from her jacket. Her eyes surveyed the area with awe and even though they had seen this before on the other side of the fence, seeing it without the chains made it feel more real.

"Wow," Daisy murmured, walking up to a tree and pressing one finger against the bark. "We're really here." She couldn't believe it at all. All their lives, the fence separated them from the woods. The fact that Daisy couldn't believe that they made it past the fence annoyed Chaise. He wasn't going to stay in the districts forever. He would set foot outside. He wouldn't be like a rat in a cage like the others. He would be the one to break free.

"And we'll be caught if we don't move," Chaise said, looking behind at the fence apprehensively. He almost expected Peacekeepers to run after them, shouting their names. There was no one. Daisy nodded in agreement and started forward, hesitating for a while so to let Chaise take the lead.

To be honest, Chaise had no idea where he was heading. Like the person Cole was, the directions were vague. "Meet me in the woods" was all he said. When Chaise and Daisy prompted him for more instructions, Cole merely shrugged and said, "I'll find you" in that condescending way of his that annoyed Chaise even further.

While Daisy had been a bit worried, Chaise brushed it off at the time. Now he was regretting it with every crunch of the crisp white snow under his feet. He was cold and his limbs were feeling number with each step. He glanced around the trees furtively as if he expected Cole to jump from a branch in front of them, showing all grandiose and infuriating Chaise.

That never happened.

Daisy was shivering, rubbing her hands on her arms quickly to insulate what little body heat she still had. "Where is he?" Daisy muttered more than a few times. She was keeping her voice low and her steps quiet as if she expected Peacekeepers to appear from behind the trees with guns.

Chaise didn't answered that question because he didn't know the answer. While he could be betraying, Chaise couldn't lie. Every word that had ever come from his mouth had always been true. He never lied about his whereabouts to his mother or father. He never lied about anything he said. The only 'lies' he'd ever given were the truths that he never told.

Their traipse through the woods felt like hours and Chaise was beginning to get more anxious. Had they wandered too far from the district? As much as Chaise despised being trapped behind the fences, he still had his mother to care for and he doubted he could last long in the woods.

"Where's Cole?" Daisy asked to no one in particular again and this time, fueled by growing anxiety, Chaise answered.

"I don't know!" he snarled and Daisy winced, startled by his sudden outburst. "He told us to meet him in the woods! He's supposed to be here!"

"Perhaps we took the wrong turn," Daisy reasoned calmly in an attempt to mitigate Chaise's sudden outburst. "Should we turn around and scan the perimeter of the fence?" It was a good idea but there was just too much fragility in her tone and uneasiness in her suggestion that made Chaise ignore her suggestion.

No sooner was he about to respond, another voice spoke up. "You'll wake all the animals from slumber, Chaise Hart." There were footsteps and then a tall boy with jet black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes stepped out from behind a tree. He fixed his sharp gaze on the twins. "So you made it. I was getting afraid that you would lose your way like stray pups."

The anxiety had subsided but Chaise felt angry at Cole for making him feel way. "Shut up. You're the one who didn't give us directions."

Cole shrugged. "That's the first lesson: figure it out by yourself. You won't always have people telling you where to go and what to do."

It was true and Chaise believed it but that didn't make him less angry. "So what are you going to do now? Lecture us on the choices of life?" He was hurling the words at Cole like badly thrown weapons now, just hoping for a hit.

"No," Cole said, walking past them, his eyes fixed on his destination. "When my father wasn't in the mines, he was working for his survival. He taught me, and now I'm going to teach you."

Cole reached into the hollow of a tree and pulled a weapon out and Daisy let out a yelp of surprise. Cole didn't even flinch. Quicker than any of them could react, Cole had an arrow notched onto the bow and aimed at Daisy's throat, his hand tensing.

Daisy stared at the sharp tip of the arrow, her mouth open in a silent scream. After getting over the initiate shock, Chaise felt his heartbeat pounding quickly in his chest. He knew what Cole could do and it wouldn't be pretty.

"Put. That. Arrow. Down," Chaise found himself saying, his voice frosted over with cold fury. Cole didn't move and his eyes were impassive though there were strain lines around them. "Cole, put that arrow down!" Chaise hissed, ready to launch himself at Cole but not in the arrows' path.

Cole didn't relent and Chaise was left to calculate the time it took to grab Cole's weapon before he released the string. He figured he didn't have time and Daisy would just have to be smart enough to leap out of the way when the arrow was let loose. Chaise was still left formulating ideas when the tension in Cole's arm released and the arrow flew from the bow. Chaise snarled, running towards Cole with outstretched hands and Daisy let out a bloodcurdling scream.

The scream went on even when Chaise had reached Cole which shouldn't have been because the arrow would have pierced her throat and silenced her. Chaise was distracted just enough that the more experienced Cole could wipe his feet from under him and pin Chaise to the snowy ground.

"She's not dead," Cole said, barely out of breath which Chaise envied. He looked over at Daisy and the arrow that was pierced on a tree right above her head. A rare grin crawled across Cole's face. "You can stop screaming now."

Chaise squirmed under Cole, hating to be the one at disadvantage. He glared hatefully at Cole, ignoring the sudden odd thumping of his heart at their proximity. "What was that for?"

"Three things," Cole replied. "One, don't let your guard down when someone else has a weapon. Two, don't forget who's in charge." He got up, leaving Chaise on the snowy ground by himself. Chaise stood up, shaking the snow from his body. His heartbeat was still racing and he had no means to calm it down. It left him feeling weak and flushed.

He glared at Cole, suppressing the feeling. "What's the third thing?"

Cole grinned again. "Don't rat me out unless you really want me to shoot that arrow at your throat."

~[*]~

Meetings with Cole were more frequent and he taught them to use all sorts of weapons that were handcrafted by formers. Chaise's favourite was the spear but he never admitted that out loud because that was also Cole's favourite too. Ever since the first meeting in the woods, Chaise had taken a disliking to Cole for making him feel so weak. Daisy, on the other hand, felt the opposite.

She was enamored by Cole and he smiled a lot more often in the woods than in the district. It was only when Chaise was fifteen did he catch Cole and Daisy locking lips behind a tree and even then, he wondered if this had happened before he figured out. For some reason, Chaise felt strange about their relationship. There was a feeling of confusion and inner pain, and he couldn't look at Daisy in the face for a week because he felt so angry at her for reasons unknown.

Chaise spent long hours in the woods coming up with strategies for new snares and different ways to wield a spear. After Cole had taught them everything, Chaise had found pleasure in solitary hunts. Cole and Daisy didn't mind this. As long as Chaise appeared at the end of the day, they wouldn't bother looking for someone who didn't want to be found. He tried not to dwell too much on this fact; every time he thought about Cole and Daisy together, he felt confused, and angry, and upset.

He spent more than days and weeks outside the district. Chaise spent years in the woods. All the hours must have added up to balance the life inside the district and if he hadn't had his mother to take care of and the threat of death by the Peacekeepers' hands, Chaise would have left to live in the woods forever.

He grew stealthier, stronger, faster, and more nimble. When Cole was sent to the mines at the mandatory age of eighteen Daisy stopped coming to the woods on the weekdays, always insisting that they had enough food.

But Chaise knew she didn't understand his love of the woods and freedom. She didn't and he didn't bother explaining it to her. He loved survival—he lived for it.

~[*]~

He needs to win the Games.

He's spent so long practicing in the woods, so many days and hours. Chaise knows that he needs to win.

Besides, how hard can killing people be?

* * *

><p><strong>Didn't check for typos yet (and I tend to make a lot). Point out flaws (please?) to help me improve. And my vocabulary is VERY small, I noticed. *facepalm* In future chapters, I may use more synonyms in place of common words. If I used the words incorrectly, PLEASE tell me! This chapter and the next chapter is more of a flashback.<strong>

_Next chapter: ~The Huntress_


	6. The Huntress

**~The Huntress**

_People aren't animals; they _can't be run down the same way. Azalea closes her eyes, not wanting to think of the arena and the Games and the weapons.

People aren't animals, she tells herself. She won't let the Capitol twist her to become a person who is so fixated on survival, they forget who and what they are. I won't, I won't, she repeats in her head. There is no way she can turn into a heartless, selfish monster. That is not who Azalea is and it will never be.

Lying on the bed, she stares at the tiled ceiling and wonders what everyone else is doing back at home. She's almost certain that her family is distressed over her leaving. She knows that Daisy must feel horrible. It won't be one absence that she bears, it will be two in the same year. Why had the Capitol decide to play more games with them? Azalea wonders if everything else isn't enough torture for the Capitol to relish in.

She shivers and pulls the thick blankets tighter around her body. When she closes her eyes, the image of Chaise's face the moment after he kissed her rises from her memory no matter how hard she tries to push it down. She's unsure why the kiss has affected her so much. Her cheeks go warm from the thought of him—both from embarrassment and shame.

He was playing with her, how could she overlook that? But no matter how many times she repeats that in her mind, she can still feel the pressure of his lips on hers and see the way his eyes seem to shine brighter than anything else in that corridor.

She shoves his memory away, keen to keep herself away from thoughts on Chaise Hart. Instead, she replaces him with older memories.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die. Why shouldn't she get a head start?

~[*]~

This wouldn't be the first time that Daisy entered the sweet shop to look for Azalea. For the past few days, Azalea had made her appearances scarce due to work. The hardest business to run was the sweet shop. Why buy candy when you have so much trouble with everything else? Why buy a small piece of candy when you can buy a whole loaf of bread for nearly the same price? The sweet shop rarely had visitors and there was more window shopping done than real shopping. When Daisy stepped into the shop, the bell would jingle and Azalea's mother would look up in hope only to realize that it was just Daisy. "Oh hello," she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Are you here to see Azalea?"

"Yes," Daisy said and then her mother would holler for Azalea. As shop owners usually lived above their business, Azalea came down the stairs to greet her friend. Daisy waved at her with an unusual sort of enthusiasm.

"What is it?" Azalea asked, noticing the way that Daisy's lips were widened in what looked like an uncharacteristic, permanent smile. Coming from the Seam, she would only smile at rare times having gone through more hardships than Azalea could imagine.

"I'll show you," she said, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet like she couldn't stay still. Azalea looked at her mother as if asking for permission before her mother nodded before getting back to work.

They walked through the aisle filled with jars of candy. Azalea regarded them sadly. The sweets lasted a long time so it was always heartbreaking to see a jar of rotten sweets. Daisy, on the other hand, was so cheerful that she hummed a crooked melody as they walked through the doors that separated the shop from the outside.

For a girl who was almost eleven, Daisy looked much too cheerful. It definitely wasn't about the fact that she couldn't wait to sign up for tesserae. "So what is it?" Azalea asked Daisy.

Daisy looked around furtively but the only company they had was the melting snow that signalled spring was coming. They would only be eleven by the time spring came and Azalea was grateful for that but she knew she was just delaying it. If Azalea was certain of one thing, it was that she didn't want to be drawn in the Hunger Games.

Daisy leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I found a way to survive—without hunger or rotten sweets."

Azalea's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" she asked, having a bad feeling about the revelation she was about to receive.

"Do you know Cole?" Daisy asked her and Azalea shook her head. The other children from the Seam didn't like to associate themselves with her. Possibly because she rarely went hungry and that made them feel bitter. The only reason why she and Daisy were friends was because of a mistake on the first day of school. Daisy had mistaken her for a child from the Seam and Azalea had mistaken her for a merchant's child. They only found out at the end of the day due to the location of their homes from the schoolyard but they both promised each other it wouldn't change anything.

"Well, since my father was… executed, our family income dwindled." She looked uncomfortable to be talking about this, wringing her hands and looking at the ground as she talked. Azalea didn't blame her because she would never admit her own income crisis to anyone else. It was too embarrassing, especially for a merchant's daughter. "Cole said he found a way to push out starvation so we met up with him…," she whispered, her voice going even lower, "…in the woods."

"What?" Even though Azalea was expecting it, it still came as a surprise to her. Azalea knew that there must be people who poached the woods but she never once expected Daisy to be one of them. Daisy's father was killed because he was caught disobeying the rules. She never expected Daisy to be taking that risk after his example.

"Shh!" Daisy hissed at her, looking around once again but there was nobody in sight. "I thought you would want to know. Anyway, Cole said I could bring a trusted friend with me if they also needed help." She bit her lip and looked down. "I thought you might need some fresh food."

Azalea didn't even know why her eyes began to water and Daisy looked up sharply. "I'm sorry!" Daisy said, cringing.

"No," Azalea said, wiping the tears away and managing a smile. "It's just that—nobody has ever said that to me before." She didn't know how easily those words could touch her. "Thank you," she said, hugging Daisy tightly. No one beyond her family had ever done things for her and the thought of it made her want to tear up again. She had never met someone who cared so much.

"You're welcome," Daisy said, smiling. "So do you want to come? Cole said right now would be a good time. He observes the Peacekeepers activities—he says that they're most of them are in the Justice Building or the town square."

Azalea nodded and Daisy led the way to the Meadow in the Seam. The entire walk was quiet. Daisy kept glancing around every few seconds and Azalea fidgeted restlessly. She knew that it would be good for her family, but she was still scared of the punishments that would be imposed on them if they were caught.

Finally, they reached the fence and Azalea stared up at it as if it had become a giant monster. It seemed to be saying: _you belong on the inside of the fence, not the outside. _Azalea shuddered, trying not to think about the whips that the Peacekeepers would have.

Daisy moved closer to the 'electric' fence and listened for the low buzzing that indicated whether it was on or off. Judging by the look on Daisy's face, Azalea assumed that it was off. Daisy motioned eagerly to Azalea and pointed to one of the many weak spots in the fences. She slid under it with ease as if she had done it before. Azalea was hesitant but she followed Daisy. She trusted her friend and she knew that Daisy wouldn't be betraying her to Peacekeepers any time soon.

Azalea slipped in after Daisy, the broken chains only scratching her a little bit. When she made it across, she stood up and took a deep breath. The air felt the same and she wondered why she always had the impression that the air outside the fence was purer.

"Come on!" Daisy said, running ahead. Azalea followed her through the woods, becoming increasingly frightened as they wandered deeper and deeper. What if they couldn't find their way back? Azalea would rather be a captive than live in isolation. Seeing the hesitation written on her face, Daisy gave an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. Cole will find us if we ever get lost."

Azalea nodded but she wasn't so sure. Daisy turned around again and continued walking. Before Azalea could take another step, Daisy squealed, "Cole!" and dashed through the bushes, leaving Azalea to follow in her wake.

Pushing through the weak thistles, she reached a clearing where she saw a young teen boy sitting on the logs and cleaning the shaft of a spear with moss.

Looking at the pointed tip, Azalea's heart dropped. She was beginning to regret this. She didn't think she'd be able to hurt any living thing with that. Cole, a boy with the same looks as a Seam child, stood up and smiled at Azalea. Or at least he tried to. It came out as a grimace.

Now his full height, Azalea could see that he was taller than most boys and lanky like the rest. But the lankiness spoke of agility, not starvation. She was beginning to see some muscle tone beneath his thin coat.

"Oh, hello," Cole greeted them. He squinted at Azalea. "I don't think I've seen you around the Seam before."

Azalea blushed at the comment. She couldn't help it. Every time someone remotely suggested she was from the Seam, she felt odd admitting that she wasn't and she never suffered through the same hardships as the Seam children did. Of course, Azalea had suffered hardships before but they didn't know and Azalea didn't bother telling them. What difference would it make to her? She didn't want people to feel sorry for her. "I'm not from the Seam," Azalea said.

Cole spared her a second glance. "Sorry," he said, though it was clear that he wasn't really sorry. Then he looked at Daisy. "What's a merchant's child doing here? Did she catch you and did you agree to her request of bringing her here?" He tried to look offhanded and relaxed but Azalea could hear the undertone of tension in his voice.

"No!" Daisy said immediately, taking a step towards him like she wanted to comfort him and then thought better of it and stood still. "It's nothing like that. She's my friend."

Cole gave Azalea another look. She knew that he was underestimating her but she didn't feel angry. She wasn't sure whether she could hunt for prey either but she still wanted to try.

"I won't give up easily," Azalea said. Cole frowned before he placed his spear down on the log.

"We'll see," he said dubiously.

~[*]~

Uncharacteristic for Azalea, she felt like she needed to prove Cole wrong. Also, she didn't want to eat rotting candies any longer. She would get sick every month and it wasn't pleasant. They didn't have enough money to see the doctors every month. Azalea would have to fight off every disease that plagued her body and she hated it.

Though Cole had his doubts and Azalea was terrible at first, she slowly improved. Long distance was her forte. Close combat—not so much. Azalea was content to sit on a tree and throw knives down at her prey.

She especially favoured a weapon by the name of a crossbow. There was only one and it was an old, smuggled one from a Peacekeeper who had a rebellious streak and was on their side until his death. There were a number of their traditional quarrels and some handmade arrows that could be used as well. Of course, Azalea was also competent with a normal bow but the crossbow felt more familiar in her hands.

"You learn slowly," Cole commented one day as they were shooting targets in the woods. Azalea fought the sudden frustration that rose inside of her at his jab.

"I suppose so," was all she replied with.

"But you don't give up," he continued. "It just reminds me of another apprentice I had."

~[*]~

Shutting her eyes, Azalea wishes that sleep will come faster. While the woods may have been her second home, her first one will always be with her family. And she would never return if she lost the Games.

* * *

><p><strong>All right, I think I did a lot to differentiate their characters. Anyway, I started working on future chapter layouts with completely different characters and when I turned back to finish this chapter, I was shocked that I was still in Azalea and Chaise's point of view while I moved on to people named Calliope and Saggitaria.<strong>

_Next chapter: ~Twisted Anew_


	7. Twisted Anew

**~Twisted Anew**

_He's awake before Herne_ knocks on his door early next morning. He has already opened the door before Herne can knock again. Looking slightly surprised, Herne quickly regains his posture and beams at Chaise with bright, golden eyes. "Good morning!" he chirps in that strange clipped accent.

Chaise doesn't answer and Herne doesn't wait for it. Instead, he pivots on his heels and marches down the corridors, leaving Chaise to follow him. Chaise doesn't see any point in not following him and walks in Herne's path.

Led into the dining room, Chaise takes a seat beside Bathilda and across from a sleepy-eyed Azalea. He's careful to make sure that his eyes are on his plate and that they never stray over to her face. Yesterday night, he was testing her. He wanted to see what kind of enemy she would be. If she was weak, she would be needy for a taste of love even if it were false love and would have bloodshot eyes from crying. She would glance at Chaise every few seconds with longing in those eyes and Chaise would know that he had gained someone who would do anything for him—just because of a kiss. It would be a huge advantage once the game started if she lived through the bloodbath.

But that's not the case.

"Chaise," she says suddenly with no preamble. There's no trepidation in her voice—nothing. Chaise thinks he's probably misheard something and looks up. Her eyes are not bloodshot and she does not appear to have been crying at all. "Can you pass me the rolls?"

Chaise, still feeling surprised, pushes the plate of rolls towards Azalea. She's hiding everything she feels for him. He knows it. Now he watches her from the corner of his eyes and she never glances at him once.

He's incredulous. She should have fallen for him. But maybe one trial wasn't enough. He's underestimated her. She needs more than a simple kiss to make her fall in love. If anything, she must dislike him right now. If she doesn't feel like her heart's been torn out, then she must dislike him for toying with her. That's the other path a girl may take as the aftermath of his actions.

It makes things harder, but he enjoys the chase. Except for the fact that he doesn't have the time he needs for it. Chaise knows he needs to make it quick but his next moves need to be efficient for him to gain the upper hand.

Herne begins to talk about what they should expect when the reach the Capitol. He can tell that Azalea is listening to every word but Chaise's mind is wandering to the different tactics that he can use to make Azalea his willing servant.

"What's your advice?" Herne asks Bathilda cheerfully.

Her back is rigid when she says, "I don't have advice for any of you."

Chaise is startled out of his reverie by her words. Bathilda smiles sweetly at them and Chaise feels a twinge of dislike for her. He's never liked her very much and people who have met her have all said terrible things about her. Chaise can tell why. There's not much to like about such a cruel woman like her.

He sneaks a quick look at Azalea to see her frozen in surprise. Then he turns his attention back to Bathilda. "We don't expect any," he says, giving Azalea another look. Maybe standing up to Bathilda will make her like him more. He looks at Bathilda and a sneer makes its way on his lips, "Not from you, anyway."

Instead of getting angry, Bathilda just surveys them coolly and then continues to sip from a mug of coffee. He hates how she can act so nonchalant after he just insulted her. He wants her to lash out so that he has another reason to leave another scar.

The rest of the ride is silent and Chaise is angry at Bathilda for imposing that silence. He hates feeling weaker. He hates it. He glares stonily out the window as the images fly past and then almost jumps out of his seat from the sudden darkness the train is plunged into.

Azalea lets out a startled cry and then quiets. Chaise remembers that there's a barrier from the eastern districts to the Capitol—they have to pass through mountains to reach the Capitol. When the darkness finally lifts, the train slows and light reaches them again. Azalea lets out a small gasp and stares at out the window, taking in the grandeur of the Capitol.

Sun shimmers off the glass of the buildings, glistening with shades that Chaise hadn't even known had existed. Shiny cars drive down the perfectly paved streets. Chaise squints at the cars, wondering why a sudden feeling of déjà vu had overcome him but then the cars are blocked from view and he's greeted with the strange, painted faces of the Capitol residents. Colours that are too bright burn into his eyes and memories and Chaise looks away. A bitter feeling resides in him. Why are the Capitol residents so selfish?

Azalea, on the other hand, lets out a gasp of awe. Chaise rolls his eyes inwardly. Why is she so enamoured by all these petty colours and fashions? To Chaise, it just reminds him of how much he abhors the Capitol.

And he's about to entertain them by killing other tributes. The thought of it disgusts Chaise so much that for a second he would rather die. But then he remembers the fact that he doesn't want to die. He'd do anything to survive and hatred of the Capitol isn't going to stop him from trying. He pushes the Capitol out of his mind. Survival is about life, not his hatred for the Capitol. They don't matter and they won't deter him from his goal.

The train finally slows to a stop and the view of the Capitol is blocked out.

Herne is so excited that he nearly jumps from his seat. "Wonderful!" he says cheerfully. "Now off we go. You two are going to get the best hygiene treatment of your life!" Chaise wishes that he would stop treating them like they're stray animals the Capitol picked off the street to pamper and love. He would rather have the Capitol torture him and the rest of the tributes instead of indulging them in treats before their deaths like pigs for slaughter.

Chaise opts for sullen silence, but Azalea nods and smiles at Herne's words. "How exciting," she says, her voice exuberant but falling flat at the end. He nearly scoffs at her attempt. She hasn't quite mastered the art of pretending, but Herne doesn't notice. Bathilda's lips tug upwards at one side at Azalea's false enthusiasm before she examines her nails and continues ignoring them.

He turns his head away from them and watches the view from the window pass by. People point at the train, mouths moving to say something but the train moved too quickly for Chaise to even guess a single word that left their lips. He watches quietly until the train is plunged into the underground darkness again.

~[*]~

With a final sharp _ri-i-ip!_, Chaise is hairless. He clenches his hands into fists, wondering why the simple act of tearing hair from his skin hurts so much. He looks down at his clean-shaven legs and expects to find blood breaking free from the holes the hairs left behind once they were removed. There's no blood, but his skin is sensitive and red. Another member from his prep team immediately goes to work with the tweezers at removing any leftover hair. Chaise admits the tweezers are mostly more painful than the waxing.

"All done!" the woman who had been waxing his legs declares, her clipped Capitol accent exhibiting delight when she observes her work. "Now you are good as new! Fresh like a little baby." She pinches his cheek, causing him to scowl.

"That's great. Where's the exit?" he asks, trying to keep his temper under control. It would be no good to snap at one of the women on his prep team. He had been in the Remake Centre for at least three hours now. The process of scrubbing down his filth and removing him of his body hair made him feel vulnerable and bare. He had also never been naked in front of anyone before, and his prep team had left no reserves for any embarrassment he felt about showing his body.

"You're not leaving yet," the other woman coos. "Your stylist will be arriving in a few minutes. We're going to check over to make sure you're ready." The man on his prep team quickly accesses his body, plucking at nonexistent body hairs before he pronounces that Chaise is ready. They leave the way they came – in a flock.

Chaise stares after them until he's sure they're gone. He grabs the white robe and drapes it over himself again, glad to have a piece of manufactured material over his body again. Before he can explore the room to search for any sort of item that might help him later on, a woman walks into room.

She's dressed in flamboyant neon colours that contrast and yet compliment so well with the stark and sterile white of the room. Her green hair is a massive up-do – done in such a way that must be difficult to walk around and hold the structure. Her skin is tinged blossom pink and her lips are permanently rounded into a pout – through surgery no doubt. Her eyes are huge, taking up a large proportion of her facial structure. She wears layered bright blue dress with mixtures of golden and silver laces that are sewn strategically to hold the dress in place. The skirt below the corset curves around her in a perfect circle to barely skim across the ground. The cuffs of the sleeve on her elbow flare out in ruffled white fabric.

Her appearance draws Chaise's attention immediately, though he horrified by the extreme ostentation of her features and her attire. The woman mistakenly identifies his horror for awe.

"Ah yes," she says, looking down admiringly at her clothes. Her speech is unusually lilted, and her altered lips make it hard for her pout to pronounce vowels. Chaise can just barely understand her. "Eighteenth Century fashion in a place faraway that went by the name of France." He doesn't bother to ask which district it is now.

"Never heard of it," Chaise says, pulling his robe tighter around himself.

His stylist puts a hand over her mouth. "Of course not, my dear." She composes herself again and walks closer to Chaise easefully despite her apparel. "I'm Bernadine and you must be our darling Chaise Hart. Robe off," she demands and Chaise reluctantly let the robe fall onto the floor to let his stylist scrutinize him. She hums in approval while she circles him and examines every inch of his skin. He fights the urge to cover himself.

"You are quite nicely toned," she remarks. Her tone contains a hint of knowing, but she quickly continues by saying, "I did request District One, but they gave me District Twelve. You seem hopeful though, and I hope my partner Balbus can do something with that Azalea girl's hopeless hair. Put on your robe and we can talk." She begins to head to another room and Chaise quickly dresses in the robe and follows her through the door to the sitting room.

"You're a new stylist, then," Chaise says once they sit across each other in the luscious red couches with a low table between them. New stylists always get the least desirable district, and Chaise isn't surprised that after the fiery games a hundred years ago, the sensation surrounding District 12 has died down. Then again, no one ever mentions those Games. It's almost sacrilege to the point where Peacekeepers are allowed to execute punishment among those who whisper stories of the Seventh-Fourth and Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games.

Bernadine makes a clicking sound with her tongue. "Yes, of course I am. That is why you have not seen something you will be in awe of during their Opening Ceremonies yet. I can assure you I am highly trained in fashion sense while other designers simply… how would you put it? Throw on miscellaneous items and hope for a match. They have no sense of creativity," she scoffs before pressing a button on the side of the table. The top of the table parts to reveal a second table that holds their lunch. He's hungry from the smell already, and Bernadine gestures with as much of a smile as her pouty lips can make to the food.

Chaise isn't sure how to feel about this woman. On one hand, he can think of at least a few snappy remarks to her comments, and yet he finds her attitude oddly droll. "So what are we going to be this year?" he asks, holding a piece of warm bread and dipping it in the soup before eating. It tastes heavenly – fresh, warm, and contrast of flavours.

Bernadine claps her hands together, and Chaise notices the golden painted long nails on each hand. "You will see!" she exclaims.

A few hours later, Chaise finds himself wearing something made of black plated material around his chest. His shoulders are wrapped with large sheets that emphasize his bare collarbones, and his sleeves cut off at his elbow with the same bulky black material. He's barefooted and wears form-fitting black shorts. Dust coats his feet up to his knees in a gradient fade. Fake large coal decorate his bare legs, seeming to have sprung from his skin. When Chaise looks in the mirror, grey-black shimmering shading rounds his eyes, letting the green of his irises pop out even more than usual. He resists the urge to wipe away at his eyes. The makeup makes his skin itchy.

"Don't touch!" Bernadine says for the umpteenth time when Chaise reaches a hand to his face. Chaise grumbles but drops his hand to his side. He has to admit, the costume isn't half bad. He had expected to be dressed in something extremely bizarre or revert back to their typical coal miner's outfit. "Now I normally don't care much for my subject's thoughts since _they _are not the ones with a degree in fashion, but what do you think?" she asks him.

Chaise hesitates. "It's interesting," he admits. "Creative. Not… fiery enough to catapult us into the attention of other tributes." Bernadine doesn't respond outwardly to his allusion, though he had expected a frown at the very least. If it's sacrilege to speak about those Games in the districts, he can only imagine how taboo it is to speak of in the Capitol. "I like it." He looks completely different from the person he's used to seeing in the mirror. It makes him feel stronger, like this costume shows just one of his many mysterious facades.

"Wonderful," Bernadine says, patting the top of his head a few times much to his annoyance. "Now let us meet up with your fellow tribute. I'm sure Balbus has transformed her mousey appearance into something wonderful."

With that, Chaise follows Bernadine out of the room and takes another step closer to the Games.

* * *

><p><strong>It's been 595 days since I last touched this document in my files. Even longer since I've updated. I revisited this story because I absolutely adore it and how it spiraled from a simple hunger games <strong>fic** from a pre-teen girl into something that expands the canonical universe (we haven't gotten there in the story yet), and I don't even mind if no one likes it/no one reads it. I'm basically writing it for myself at this point (though knowing that someone is reading it via reviews would be very nice!). I'm also changing the name of this story from Sparks Fly to Caged Birds**,** because this ain't no Taylor Swift song. **

**Upon revisiting, I noticed that it was all so heteronormative and non-diverse! I've changed it up now, so some characters are sporting different identities. I'm adding the new edits to each chapter now. The most noticeable of all of that Ash is now female! At least, Ash is listed under female by Capitol regulations...we don't really know if Ash is female. (Well, I do but...)**

**Notes specifically on this chapter: I cross the line with Bernadine here. She lacks an Ancient Roman name like all the others and mentions somewhere out of Panem. Will that be important? (Pssh... Of course it will)**

**Chaise is self-conscious. Boys are allowed to be self-conscious about being naked in front of strangers. (Meaning I would rather much not have him smirk and flex like numerous [bad]boys in teen fiction)**

_Next Chapter: ~Remade_


End file.
